


Fatal Precision

by dealio (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BAMF!Lance, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Pining Keith (Voltron), klance, knife throwing lance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-24
Packaged: 2019-03-09 03:02:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13472355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/dealio
Summary: When an attempt is made on their lives, Lance uses Keith's knife to nab the perp and Keith has a gay crisis about it.





	Fatal Precision

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off my own text post about Lance using Keith's knife as a throwing knife

“Dammit, we lost them!”

“Wait, there they are, let’s go!”

Lance blew by Keith, then pushed past a small crowd of aliens in pursuit of the assailant that had made an attempt on their lives.

No armor, no bayards; it wasn’t exactly like they knew they’d be needing them in this city of all places. They were just supposed to be picking up a few things for Coran. What could go wrong?

As it turned out, a lot.

Not only had they been targeted by an assassin, but when their attempt had failed the alien had taken off in an attempt to flee.

Lance and Keith followed on foot. Lance- with his long legs and his track-running background- lead the pursuit with Keith not too far behind. But both of them were no match for the shifty alien, who was even faster on all fours and had the advantage of the thick city crowds to slow down his pursuers.

That, coupled with the fact that they seemed to know exactly where they were going- whereas Lance and Keith had never even been to this place before- made them a damn-near impossible target.

This was supposed to be an easy in and out task. No one anticipated a problem, which was why they came unarmed in the first place. The city was busy, full of witnesses and out of Empire territory. Their attacker wasn’t even Galra. But they knew who Lance and Keith were, and they knew exactly where they’d be, so the two paladins silently decided it was in their best interest to run them down and figure out just who was behind the attack.

But both of them were getting winded, and fighting the crowds was proving to be more and more difficult. Keith was catching up to Lance, who looked weary and frustrated as he tried to weave through the small seas of aliens. It was beginning to look as if the killer was going to get away.

Suddenly, Lance slid to a halt on the other side of a particularly large mob, causing Keith to nearly collide with his back. 

“What is it?” Keith huffed, winded, not sure why they had suddenly stopped. The assassin was getting further and further away by the tick. Was Lance really giving up?

He was preparing to berate the boy for letting them go, a full spiel about how they might have dire information and how their friends might also be in trouble if they didn’t get it when a hand shot out at him expectantly.

“Gimme your knife,” Lance ordered.

Keith’s face scrunched up in confusion as he peered at Lance, whom of which had not taken his eyes off the fleeing assassin. 

To Keith’s knowledge, Lance wasn’t as versed in blades or close combat as he was. So for him to ask for Keith’s weapon, especially now since the alien was well of the range and would obviously rather run than engage in combat, left him the better part of befuddled.

“Keith,” Lance said, finally turning to him and thrusting his hand forcefully towards him, “The knife!”

Keith, though still confused, obliged and hurriedly unsheathed the small knife from the case attached to his belt. He then placed it into Lance’s waiting hand, handle first. His heart leapt into his throat as Lance closed his fingers around the hilt of the blade, secretly enjoying the way it looked in his hand, if only for a moment.

Briefly, Lance tested the weight of the blade. Then, satisfied, he looked up again, searching for the fleeing thief as he flipped the knife in the air to grip it by its blade. 

“Gotcha,” he muttered under his breath, almost too softly for Keith to hear over the dull murmur of the city street full of people. Then he reeled his arm back behind his head and prepared to let the knife fly.

Keith had only a split tick to register what was about to happen before it happened. Not enough time to stop it and not even close to enough time to form coherent words of warning.

There were way too many people around. They were in a city for quiznaks sake, and it was crowded! And as far as he knew this was the first time Lance had even attempted this. It was definitely the first time he had ever held Keith’s knife before.

There were too many risks involved to justify throwing a knife haphazardly through a thoroughfare full of innocent people. Would Lance really risk that? Could he be so careless? It seemed very impulsive and out of character on his part. 

Yes, it was important that they catch the person, but at what cost?

Lance rocked forward and extended his arm straight out, loosening the knife from his fingers in a surprisingly trained looking technique. It flew through the air so fast Keith could hardly keep track of it if not for the glint of the blade as it spiraled away from them. 

In reality, it didn’t even take a tick, but to him, it felt like dobashes.

His heart beat wildly in his chest and his whole body felt on pins and needles as his knife soared through the air, missing everyone except for its intended target.

With a loud thud that echoed off of the buildings lining the thoroughfare, the attempted killer had been pinned to the wall by the knife, which had snagged their clothing and trapped them in place. 

It was an incredible feat of precision and Keith looked back to Lance, slack-jawed and full of awe. His confident and smug smirk sent a jolt through him and caused a crimson heat to break out across his nose. 

“Yes!” Lance exclaimed, more to himself, and balled his hand into a victorious fist. He then turned and winked at Keith before running forward to apprehend the assassin.

Keith followed, albeit a bit more slowly, willing his heart to still in his chest and the heat in his cheeks to disperse. It was one thing to see Lance holding his knife, which made him feel as though he had butterflies in his stomach. It was another to see him use it expertly and precisely to accomplish a near-impossible feat of accuracy. It made the butterflies that had been fluttering in hit gut feel more like an angry swarm of bees. 

Upon reaching them, the assailant was desperately trying to free themselves from the confines of the knife trapping them against the wall. But it was in too deep, and even Lance had to wiggle it a bit to dislodge it after he had secured their foe. 

“Here,” Lance said with a smile, handing the knife back to Keith handle first, “Let’s get this goon back to the castle and see what they know. I can’t wait to try out my interrogation tactic. Do you think Coran will let me use the gladiator drone?”

Keith took the knife slowly, biting his lip when their fingers brushed against each other, then placed it gingerly back into its case on his belt. 

Lance frowned at him, “Hey, are you okay?”

Keith cleared his throat before answering, “Y-Yeah, why?”

“Because your hands are sweaty,” Lance replied, “And you’re all red. You look hot.”

“Uhh…” Keith shifted his weight nervously and looked away, “It’s just- It’s- The running, you know? And… I’m not… feeling that great.”

Lance frowned but didn’t pursue it any further, and for that Keith was grateful. He didn’t know what he was going to do if Lance called him out on it. They both were very much in shape and that run wasn’t exactly a huge strain in effort. But if he were sick and not at his peak, Lance was would be more compelled to believe it had winded him greatly.

“Alright, well we’ll get you some water on the way back to the Lions. And we’ll have Coran check you out when we get back to the castle. Okay, bud?” Lance suggested, pulling their captured perp off the wall and preparing to walk them back to their ships.

Keith clutched at his chest where his heart was still threatening to hammer out of his ribcage, “Y-Yeah, sounds good.”

 


End file.
